And the World Comes Shattering Around Us
by museme87
Summary: Five events surrounding October 31, 1981 as seen through the eyes of James, Lily, Peter, Sirius, and Remus.
1. The Choice

**I. The Choice – October 22, 1981, 7:43 PM**

Lily sat rooted to her chair, as if she'd been stunned by some unknown assailant. The ice clinking against James' and Sirius' glasses was deafening. A dirty light seemed to be cast through the room, and she wondered if it too had lost its shine because of the war or if she was just imagining it. Her heart was leaden, pumping blood sluggishly through her veins. Harry slept soundly in her arms, and he was the only thing that brought her any warmth or happiness in this cold, empty, miserable world.

"It's only a suggestion," Sirius added, after a long moment's silence. "I'm happy to do it, James. Really. They're going to come after me anyway, so it's got nothing to do with wanting to save my own hide. I just thought that another line of defense might be beneficial."

She wanted to say something to Sirius, but as she turned to him, words seemed to fail her. He looked horrible. The years hadn't been kind to any of them but carrying the burden of fighting this war had marred Sirius' handsome face in ways that Lily thought impossible. She hoped if he survived the war—and he would, she knew, because he was _Sirius_ and Sirius was above all else a survivor—some life would be breathed back into him and he would smile that contagious smile and the world would suddenly right itself because of it.

"No, you're right. It's a brilliant plan. Just…_Peter_?"

"I know what you're thinking, mate. And that's exactly what Voldemort and the Death Eaters will be thinking. No one will suspect Peter because Peter is the last person any one in their right mind would choose when you have men like Dumbledore offering to be your Secret Keeper."

Though she couldn't form the words to voice it, Lily thought that the idea of using someone else as their Secret Keeper was a good plan. But, she wondered as she looked down at her sleeping baby, did she trust Peter with Harry's life? Sirius seemed to think he was worthy of such a task, and James, however hesitant he seemed to be about the matter, would no doubt feel that Peter was a good candidate for Secret Keeper as well. But Lily couldn't shake an uneasy feeling. His Animagus was a rat, and she couldn't help but feel as if it were symbolic of something in his nature.

However, she would never be able to say something like that to either of them. Peter was one of their best mates. He had stood beside them since first year and had always been eager to participate in rule breaking rather than tattling on them. No doubt James and Sirius would see it like that. Peter had been kind to her as well, but she would feel much safer if it were someone else.

"I'd rather it be Remus," she said, pulling Harry closer to her.

James and Sirius looked at her, almost startled because of her silence up until that point. And then surprise faded into troubled looks, which then gave way to sadness. There was something they weren't telling her.

"Lily, love…"

"There's been talk among the Order…"

James looked at Sirius. "Well, it's just that…some members have been a bit concerned…"

"Because we know there is a spy," Sirius added.

"Yeah, because of that…"

Lily thought she knew where this conversation was about to lead them, and she prayed, for their sake, that it wouldn't go there. "James?"

"Some in the Order think that Remus is the spy." James looked suddenly unnerved as the words slipped between his lips, as if he were a child caught with his hand in the biscuit tin.

"Who cares what the Order thinks?" she hissed, trying to keep her voice down so as to not wake Harry.

"That's the thing. We've talked it over, James and I, and we're not sure they're wrong. He's been acting suspicious lately, Lils, and he's been disappearing without word."

Lily could hardly believe what she was hearing, especially coming from Sirius. "How could you? You _care_ about him. You've been closer to him than any of us these past few years. You should know better than to think he's capable of this."

"Yeah, I do care about him, but I also care about Harry. And right now, his life is in danger. We know it's someone on the inside, someone close. Considering Moony's shady behavior lately and the fact…" He paused, as if to think about whether he wanted to continue. "He's a werewolf, Lily."

Fire licked her insides, setting her heart aflame. Remus was her very dear friend. Before James and Sirius could ever consider themselves a part of her life, Remus was there. She tutored him in Potions second year, and he helped her with Defense Against the Dark Arts. Remus was there for all those late nights in the library, studying for exams. They had prefect duty together. They fought along side each other against the Death Eaters. Hell, she'd gone to him before any of the others when she'd found out she was pregnant with Harry because she was just so damn scared. So she was not about to stand there and let Sirius Black talk about him like that.

"James?"

He looked quite guilty. "He has a point. I don't want to think it, but we do know that Voldemort has werewolves working for him. I think we'd be stupid if we didn't pause for a moment to consider it."

Lily jumped from her chair, Harry stirring in her arms. "How dare you, James Potter. You're going to condemn him because of something that is out of his control? He didn't choose to be a werewolf anymore than Harry chose to be part of that bloody prophecy! You're his friend, and you swore that you'd _never_ judge him, think badly of him, because of something that happened to him as a child! He's a victim, not a traitor. And you ought to be ashamed of yourselves. Both of you."

Harry began to fuss from her shouts, so she gave James and Sirius one final, harsh look before leaving the kitchen. As she walked up the stairs to Harry's nursery, Lily felt hot, angry tears begin to well in her eyes. Damn Voldemort for doing this to them. They had been fighting against him for years now and slowly he was wearing them all down. Now he had James wanting to go into hiding. And while Lily knew it was in everyone's best interest that they did, she didn't want to run anymore.

She paused in front of the nursery. More than anything, Lily wanted to walk down the steps, out the door, and seek Voldemort out. She wanted to pay him back for what he was doing to her family and to her friends, pay him back for all the lives that he took and havoc he wreaked. But she couldn't because of the baby she held. Lily placed a kiss on his forehead. She was a mother now and had to put Harry's needs before her own desires. So she would sit and wait in hiding, maybe for days, maybe for years.

But when Voldemort did come—and Lily could not shake the feeling that he would somehow, someway—she would be ready for him. She was bright enough to know that she wouldn't survive, but she wouldn't run from him or beg for her life. She would hold her head up high and show him exactly what a Muggle-born was capable of.


	2. The Decision

**II. The Decision – October 23, 1981, 5:17 PM**

It was a sound from upstairs that made Peter's hand suddenly begin to tremble, spilling nearly boiling tea down his front and sending the cup to the floor. He cursed as he tried to wipe the hot liquid from his exposed skin, nearly forgetting that a quick cleaning and healing charm would do the trick much quicker than his hand.

There was the sound again. The broken cup on the kitchen floor would have no doubt alerted the intruder that someone knew he was there. Peter grabbed his wand and clumsily made his way into the sitting room and up the stairs, swearing every time he bumped into something or tripped.

Down the hall he crept until he came to the room that he suspected the sounds were coming from. He threw the door open, but nothing was there. Peter wasn't sure if he should feel relieved or more frightened than before. Was someone in his house? Or had there really been someone there in the first place?

As of late, his mind had been playing tricks on him, hearing things that weren't there and seeing shadows where there weren't any. His mother told him it was nerves—_why, anyone with any sense would feel uneasy in the middle of this war_—and Peter had to agree. He was nervous to the point of being constantly jumpy, but it wasn't just because of the war. It had far more to do with his role in the war; he was a spy, a traitor, a man whose choices lately had been limited to "tell me or die."

He had first gone along with it because he wanted to survive no matter the cost, though lately every time he looked at James' care worn face or into Lily's gentle green eyes, he no longer wanted that. The guilt that he initially thought would be easy to deal with—especially considering the alternative—was slowly driving a knife into his heart. And he desperately wanted it to stop.

"Oi, Wormtail!"

Sirius. He suddenly felt more uneasy than he had when he heard the sounds. Why had he come? Was someone dead? Was someone dead _because of him_? The idea of hearing what Sirius had to say made him want to vomit.

"Peter? You around?"

"C-coming!"

Peter rushed downstairs. He had to face Sirius; there was no other alternative. If Sirius caught him hiding upstairs, he'd grow suspicious and that was the last thing Peter wanted.

"Sorry 'bout that. Loo."

"Listen, Peter, can I have a minute or two? There's something important I need to talk to you about."

He stared at Sirius for a long moment, wondering how he could remain so…so _Sirius_ despite the fact that everyone else was changing because of the war. He still carried himself with an air of self-confidence, as if he thought himself untouchable. Peter hoped he was because he had heard of the things Sirius' Death Eater family would like to do to him when—if—they caught him.

More than anything Peter wanted to know how Sirius did it, how he could stay so constant. If it was some sort of magic, then Peter needed to know the incantation. And if it was just something that had to be learned, he'd be willing to be taught. But he had to know because Peter knew he was quickly forgetting how to be Peter and was morphing into a monster.

"Sure. Is it Order business?"

_Please say no. _Because if it was no, Voldemort would have no reason to use the Cruciatus Curse on him, no reason to infiltrate his mind.

"No."

Peter breathed a sigh of relief.

Sirius hesitated before continuing with, "It's a good deal more important than anything going on with the Order."

And Peter hoped that Sirius defined "important" like he did in the old days: a word reserved for pranks, birds, and Remus' "furry little problem" only. If it now had anything to do with missions and secrets and most importantly of all, James and Lily, then Peter didn't think he wanted Sirius to continue.

"Having girl problems, Padfoot?"

Caught off guard by the question, Sirius grinned. "When have I ever had girl problems?"

For a moment, they were both able to laugh because if they didn't, they just might have lost it altogether, but then reality came rushing back at them and Sirius sobered considerably.

"It's about James and Lily. We want to change Secret Keeper," Sirius said, looking at him pointedly.

"Surely you don't mean me?"

"James and I reckon you're the right bloke for the job."

_Well, you'd reckon wrong. _Peter, feeling suddenly light headed, sat down on the sofa and rested his head in his hands to try to ground it. He couldn't do it, couldn't be Secret Keeper. He must have been playing the spy well if they trusted him with something so important.

This was the point of no return, he realized. This was the point where he could tell them everything or nothing. And he wanted to tell Sirius everything, but the problem was he couldn't.

If it had been Remus they sent, he could have confessed because Remus understood that there were shades of grey. Remus had a monster inside of him; he knew what it felt like to be something less than whole. And he wouldn't judge him for what he had done where as Sirius would do nothing but because he was the most loyal friend any person could ever ask for. There was only good and evil to Sirius, and if you weren't as pure as the driven snow, you were the enemy.

"I don't know about that."

"What's wrong, Wormtail?"

Maybe he could talk him out of it. Maybe he could make him change his mind without having to confess all the evil he'd done.

"I'm not like you, Sirius. You're a brilliant wizard and courageous and think quickly on your feet. I'm none of those things."

"You're wrong," Sirius said, sitting next to him. "If we want to talk about brilliant, who was the one to come up with the Animagi and Marauder's Map plans? That was all you, Wormy. You've always been our idea man, yeah? And you do think quickly on your feet, or do I need to remind you of the time we were caught coming out of the Slytherin common room by McGonagall? If you hadn't come up with that story, I bet we would all still be serving detention."

Peter looked at him. "But I'm not _brave_. And none of that other stuff matters if I can't face my fears and do the right thing."

"You're a Gryffindor, Pete. Maybe it's just going to take something this big and this important for you to see it."

He wanted to come up with a retort, but Peter was at a loss for words. Sirius was never the voice of reason by any means, but what he said resonated with some part of him. Peter was still fighting, wasn't he? He hadn't given up the good fight yet. He didn't _want_ to give information to Voldemort; he wanted to bring him down now more than ever. Maybe what he needed was the chance.

"I'll do it," he said, determined.

And he would. He would protect James, Lily, and Harry. He wasn't about to let Voldemort win because more than anything else, he wanted his friends back and intact. They were the Marauders, brothers in everything but blood. All he had to do was keep a secret. Then they would all be safe.


	3. The Destruction

**III. The Destruction – October 31, 1981, 8:54 PM**

James watched as Harry flew around their small backyard in Godric's Hollow on the broom that Sirius had bought him for his first birthday. He couldn't help but soar with pride at Harry's shear fearlessness on the thing. There was a Quidditch star in the making.

"Atta boy, Harry."

He looked quickly over his shoulder to see if Lily had discovered their location yet, not that it would have been hard between his own cheers and Harry's squeals of delight. She'd been getting ready to put Harry down for the night when James slipped him out of the house. He imagined that Harry only had a couple more laps around the yard before she'd come calling.

And sure enough within a few moments she silently slipped next to him. He glanced at her and she was looking just as intently at Harry as he had been, though her face seemed more saddened than pleased.

This didn't come as a surprise. She'd closed herself off from him ever since the decision was made to change Secret Keeper and the news of recent deaths of Order members and strangers alike reached them. She was in a state of constant unease and worried herself senseless over what-ifs. James wished he could make her understand that they were going to be just fine.

"You love this, don't you?" she asked.

He was surprised to hear her voice; they hadn't exchange much more than pleasantries over the past few days.

"Love what?"

"This life. Us. _Him_. If you could change things so that none of this ever happened, so that you weren't living in constant fear every day, would you?"

James crouched down, his head bent towards the ground. What kind of question was that? What was Lily expecting him to say? Because the real answer was no, he had never wished to change _this_. But would that sort of answer scare her away from telling him what was on her mind, what her answer to that question was? If she was asking that sort of question though, did it really matter what he said?

"No, I've never wanted to give this back in exchange for an easier life."

She sat on the ground next to him, pulling her legs to her chest and locking her eyes on Harry who was giggling happily.

"Neither have I."

It was said with such resolve that James knew she hadn't just said it to reassure him.

"Every once in a while I asked myself that question, especially when things started going to hell. Would I ever give up a life with you and Harry in return for a peaceful life? And there seemed to be an obvious answer. Who wouldn't want to live without being in constant fear? But I picked you and Harry every time. I don't know why, but I just did."

"It's because some things are worth fighting for."

Turning, she smiled softly at him, her green eyes so bright despite the darkness. That was the answer she'd been looking for: the one that would rekindle the fight in her. James was glad that he'd been able to provide that for her, and in all honesty, he needed that fire in her to ignite as much as she did.

"You'll think that way even if we die, won't you?"

"Especially if we die," he said softly. "But we won't."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I can't really, but what I do know is that the moment we start thinking that this is the end, everything will start falling apart. So I have to think that we're going to make it through this."

"I wish I could be more like you, James," she said thoughtfully. "I used hate you for your resolve and stubbornness, but now I realize that those are the reasons why you've changed the least out of all of us over these past few years. You still manage to be this beacon of light despite everything. And all because you're so damn pig-headed."

To anyone else it may have come across as a backhanded compliment, but to James' well trained ears, it was everything but. He wished Lily could be a little more like him too because then he wouldn't have had to endure the pain of watching her slowly give up hope and make peace with the fact that she would likely die at the hands of Voldemort. Seeing her like that affected him more than the deaths of his fellow Order members, and he prayed that this new, rekindled spark in her would begin to blaze.

They would make it through this, maybe simply because they wanted it bad enough. The world would come crashing around them, but they would survive. They would pick themselves up, brush the dust and wash the dirt off of them, and then would begin again. She had to believe it.

"I'm going to protect you, Lily. You and Harry. So don't worry."

"Thank you. Just promise me you won't do anything too heroic. We need you."

"I promise."

That was a lie, a necessary one to ease her mind. He would gladly give up his life if it meant Lily and Harry would be safe. He'd decided that long ago and plans had been made should it ever come to that. But it wouldn't.

"Harry needs to get to bed. It's past his bedtime," she said, standing.

James watched Harry, joy still spread on his chubby, baby face, zooming around the yard and felt bad that the unsuspecting little boy didn't even know that it would be his final lap.

"Let him have another go around. That way he can really enjoy it."

"It's late, James," she said, heading over to pluck Harry from his broom.

He stood, a gentle smile on his lips. "Let it be known that on October 31st, 1981, your mother began a quick trip down a short road to being the un-fun, no nonsense parent, Harry."

Harry gave a sharp cry when Lily picked him up, and James knew he would be near inconsolable until he drifted off to sleep.

"Da! Da!" Harry shouted as Lily walked past him to take Harry inside.

"Here, I'll take him and get him ready for bed, Lily."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," he said, as she passed him their son. "He's just making a fuss because he's a bit cross with you at the moment. Isn't that right, Harry?"

James bounced him up and down and his sobs settled into small hiccups. He fisted James' jumper in his tiny hand and rubbed his heavy eyes, exhausted.

Lily ruffled Harry's hair, smiling. "I've laid his blue pajamas on the sofa, and I haven't seen his stuffed Padfoot since this morning. He's not likely to go down quietly without it."

"Pafoo."

"I've got it under control. Go take a nice, long shower. You deserve it."

"That sounds so lovely. Unfortunately, I have dishes to finish up. No rest for the wicked," she said, before standing on her toes to give him a kiss on the cheek.

James watched as she walked towards the back door, his insides still tingling from such a simple kiss. It amazed him that after all these years, the smallest things that he thought would become so routine that they would lose meaning hadn't become meaningless at all.

"Evans?"

She spun around, hand on her hip, and suddenly she was fifteen again, filled to the brim with beauty and wit and vivacity.

"I love you."


	4. The Wreckage

**IV. The Wreckage – October 31, 1981, 10:15 PM**

Sirius curled his arm around her shoulder and smiled a smile that oozed charm, and daring, and probably many other things that only Sirius could manage to get across in a simple formation of the lips. She was a pretty little brunette thing, all eyes and tits. He didn't know her name, didn't _care_ to know her name because this was, above all else, not about names. If he was lucky—and he would be because of _his_ name and the prestige that it brought with it—tonight would be about heat and skin and trying to feel alive in the middle of all this death. There would be no gentle caresses or good-mornings for her, and Sirius would have felt bad for it if it weren't for the fact that everyone was getting used by someone these days.

"Let's go back to my flat."

She looked surprised, as if she hadn't expected him to make his move so fast. He wondered what world she'd been living in these past few years; if you weren't quick and resolute, you were dead. Or maybe that'd just been how he'd been living. He never really stopped to take the time to consider it. But even if it was just him, he wasn't about to change things at this stage of the game.

"_Please_," he whispered into her ear, his voice so heavy and deep that it nearly came out as a moan.

He felt her nearly melt in her seat, and he knew that he could usher her out of the pub at any point he'd like. He probably didn't need to even take her back to his flat; she looked the type to do it just about anywhere if convinced, and judging from her hand snaking along his thigh, she needed no more convincing.

Just as he was escorting her out the door, he had a sudden feeling that had been all too familiar these days. He'd felt it last year when Remus had nearly been hexed into oblivion and forced to spend several weeks in St. Mungo's trauma ward, and he'd also felt it all three times James and Lily had had a run in with Voldemort. When he'd become an Animagus, he'd given a part of himself to Padfoot, and Padfoot, in return, had blessed him with a canine's sixth sense for knowing when something was very, very wrong.

He was restless and panicked. He needed to see James immediately. But what about Wormtail? If he was safe, so were the Potters. And as much sense as that made to him, he couldn't follow through. It was James first, everyone else later.

Shrugging the girl off of him, he headed for his motorbike. Apparation would be a mistake with his mind in its current state; he'd found that out last time he was like this when he'd splinched himself.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"No where with you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, offended.

He rounded on her. "Do you really need it spelled out for you? Sod off."

Mounting his motorbike, he was off the ground in an instant and soaring over the city in the direction of Godric's Hollow.

He'd just managed to get off his motorbike when his legs gave out on him entirely. It seemed that the shock he took when he fell to the ground was enough to bring up the bile churning in his stomach, and he vomited, the acidic taste sweet compared to the sight his eyes feasted on.

James' home was in ruins. On nights when he woke up in a cold sweat, screaming, this had been what his nightmare had been about. The only thing missing was the Dark Mark above the roof. But Sirius didn't need some sign to know that they had been here and that something bad had happened because of it.

He heaved himself up, forcing himself in the direction of the door. Just because the cottage was destroyed didn't mean that…well it didn't mean _that_. They could still be…they _were_…_of course_ they were. It was James and Lily. The alternative would be unthinkable, which was why he wasn't going to think it.

At the door he hesitated. He knew he shouldn't because, by the looks of things, James and Lily would likely need medical attention. But he couldn't help himself. A nagging part of his brain, or maybe it was Padfoot, told him that perhaps he should steel himself for what he might find, which would _not_ be what-did-not-happen. And so he opened the door with his wand at the ready, fully prepared for a search and rescue.

All the preparation in the world could not have prepared him for what laid beyond his feet. James. James still on the floor, eyes frozen wide. Somewhere inside Sirius, Padfoot's agitation eased and he rested. _This is what you needed to find. _

"Prongs?"

He listened for James' answer, and for the first time in ten years, James did not answer back.

"Prongs?"

Nothing, and his stomach lurched violently with it. He shuffled down the corridor, his wand held limply in his hand and everything feeling suddenly surreal.

"James?"

He was cold to the touch and his eyes weren't his own because James' eyes could express a thousand different sentiments and these could only express one horrible one.

"James."

Somewhere something finally clicked. Somewhere what-did-not-happen suddenly became what-did-happen. And when it did click, something snapped.

Sirius' face was awash in anguish. Small choking noises sounded from his throat and he fought to keep any emotions he could in check. He wanted to take hold of James, maybe to shake him for letting this happen or maybe to comfort what remained of him, but after several failed attempts, Sirius couldn't bring himself to touch him.

_Cut Potter, Black bleeds. _

He was an amputee now. Someone had murdered James, and Sirius could never be the same because of it. He would now be something else, something less than whole. And if James' death alone wouldn't drive him to madness, the idea of having to carry on without James very well might.

"You. Stupid. Git. We were supposed to get through this together. We had a plan. And…and dying wasn't part of it."

His vision blurred from tears and his nose ran. His stomach flipped and flopped violently. His heart rested heavy in his chest. He'd never felt this way before. Hell, he didn't know one person could feel so much at once—love, rage, spite, sorrow, empty, overflowing, fear. His mind whorled trying to grasp onto all of it until his instinct slipped into control and he transformed into Padfoot.

Things became much simpler then. Padfoot understood loss; he smelled the difference in his pack mate and knew that he was dead. But the grief that came with the loss was different, subdued. The rage and spite and fear dissipated. Sirius' mind could rest and collect itself now.

Padfoot circled thrice and lay down against his fallen comrade. He nudged James' hand with his nose and gave a soft whimper.


	5. The Aftermath

**V. The Aftermath – November 3, 1981, 11:31 AM**

When Remus heard a knock at the door, he hoped that it was the Death Eaters. It wasn't very sensible to think it—if they placed such little value on human life, it was unlikely they'd be considerate enough to knock before entering—but he wanted it all the same. Death would be a welcome gift now that he had nothing to live for, and the only thing keeping him alive was the fact that he was too pissed to seek it out and too cowardly to do the job himself.

"Come in."

"I'm relieved to find you in good health, Remus. I must confess when I noticed your absence at the funeral, I was quite concerned."

Dumbledore. The only one left in the world that actually gave a damn about his well being. And he probably ought to be more kindly towards him for that reason, but Remus was finding it terribly difficult to muster any sort of friendly, positive attitude.

"Thank you for stopping by. I appreciate the concern, but I'm fine."

"Do you mind if I sit for a moment?"

Remus did, in fact, mind. However, Dumbledore had already helped himself to the seat next to him on the sofa. It seemed like he had no choice but to entertain company. Remus could only hope it would be over soon as he would very much like to get back to nursing his bottle of Firewhisky alone.

"I was wondering perhaps if we might talk about what happened."

Ah, so that was it. No one else showed much concern over how the deaths of his friends had affected him because, as always, they were a tiny bit afraid of what he was and what he might do. Dumbledore had always been different. He cared for Remus, and now he expected Remus to open up about what was going on in his head. Well, Dumbledore would be disappointed to find that it wasn't going to happen.

"I don't need to talk about it."

"Oh no, of course not. I was only hoping that you might lend an ear. I'm having a particularly difficult time of it, you see."

Perhaps Dumbledore expected him to be James or Sirius or Peter, who had always been pants at reading between the lines. He, however, had been well trained in it. Dumbledore wanted him to get things off his chest, and if Remus wouldn't give it up willingly, Dumbledore would coax it out of him.

"James and Lily were magnificent people, Remus. It's—"

"They were the best. No one else seems to stop and consider that though. They're too busy celebrating the fall of Voldemort to think what his death cost some."

Dumbledore nodded.

"They didn't deserve to die."

"No, they most certainly did not."

Remus turned to Dumbledore, his heart suddenly heavier than it had been since he'd heard the news. Maybe Dumbledore would have the answers to all Remus' questions since Remus had been wracking his brain for them and had come up empty handed every time.

"Then why did it happen? Why did James and Lily have to die?"

"There is no good answer to that, I'm afraid. If they are guilty of anything, it is putting their trust in the wrong person."

That was the one, tiny detail that Remus had been trying to avoid thinking about all along: Sirius' betrayal. It rubbed Remus the wrong way. Sirius would never…and yet, he did. It pained Remus beyond words. Had he ever really known him? Or had something changed along the way?

Remus struggled with a desire to hate Sirius for what he had done and a gut instinct that told him that Sirius couldn't have done it, that they had the wrong man. But even if there was evidence to prove Sirius' innocence—and there wasn't—no one would listen to him anyway. Everyone was ready to put the war behind them and get on with their lives; Remus only wished it could be as simple for him as it was for the rest of them.

"You look like you could use another, Remus," Dumbledore said, offering him a generous glass of Firewhisky.

"I've been drinking for days," he said, taking it.

"And yet you're remarkably articulate and levelheaded."

"James used to say the same thing, though never so aptly put."

And then they sat in silence for a long while, Remus downing his glass and Dumbledore taking small sips of the wine he'd summoned. Had it happened at any other point in his life, Remus would have felt very uncomfortable sitting with his former headmaster and not speaking. However, Remus was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that the awkwardness of the situation barely occurred to him.

"When does it stop hurting? How many more glasses do I have to drink before I stop feeling this?"

Dumbledore sat his glass down. "I'm afraid to say that it never stops hurting. The pain will subside in time until some small, insignificant thing will remind you of them, and you will feel as if it had only happened yesterday."

Remus wasn't sure if he could handle that. If he could only find the root of the problem, maybe then he could recover. Maybe Dumbledore for once in his life would be wrong. But there was no single thing that caused his misery. The loss of James and Lily, of Peter and Sirius, the pain of the loneliness, the knowledge that he would never see Harry again, the mere idea that the only four friends that accepted him despite his condition and loved him all the more for it…it was all too much to get over. And there was one thing, more than any other that tore away at him.

"I never got to say goodbye."

"Only a privileged few ever properly do."


End file.
